


The First Season

by Red



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Animalistic, Breeding, Captivity, Dubious Consent, Forced Bonding, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't the first time Charles has been in rut, and it's not the first he's been thrown in the back of a truck and hauled off to some poor heat-ridden stranger, either. But there's something compelling about this mutant, and Charles has a feeling that things might change, after this season. </p><p>(for Professor's XMFC/DOFP Porn Battle)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Season

The building Moira’s taken him to is freezing and dim, they were accompanied to the door by the disquieting owner of this place, and Charles has spent the last hour attempting to block the overwhelming misery of all the mutants suffering out here. 

For his trouble, all he has is a splitting headache. Wonderful addition to the roiling of his stomach, which is at least familiar from every other damn time he’s been hauled off to some poor stranger whilst in rut. 

Moira’s a kind enough human. She treats him and the rest of her rescues with respect, at least as much respect as a mutant’s apt to get. She thinks him intelligent, in his own way deserving of rights. But, as with most humans, the way she sees mutants isn’t terribly unlike the way she sees orcas or dolphins. 

Smart, perhaps smart as humans. But utterly foreign, and…

The door shuts behind him with a rusty creak. Charles shivers, his bare skin breaking out in gooseflesh. The air might be dusty, claustrophobic with the stench of molding hay, but the frenzied thoughts of a mutant in heat and the scent of sweat and arousal soon overwhelm all else. 

Mutants aren’t terribly common, not any longer. Most interactions with humans have historically ended rather poorly for their kind; the remaining who're managing to live in the wild have little habitat left.

Charles thinks sometimes that Moira knows, that she can sense how incredibly distasteful he finds this. 

But still, she calls up fellow mutant-owners, she drives him cross-country. Because, while she thinks his kind intelligent, she also thinks they’re more importantly _endangered_. 

A fevered moan, deep and lonely, cuts through the silence of the shed. 

Incapable of resisting, Charles steps forward and starts picking his way through darkness. 

_hello?_ he sends, not expecting a reply. Heat leaves so very little in the way of coherency, and he always finds this so very sickening for it. These humans may be well-intentioned, they might be trying to undo their eons of efforts to bring a species to verge of extinction. But he should be paired with one mate, sharing all his seasons with one mutant by his side, sod this “genetic diversity” rubbish Moira’s mind is always fixated on.

Charles approaches closer. And stops, abruptly, as now he can see enough of this mutant to know two things.

One, it’s got a masculine-seeming form. Not unusual, not even for a young-bearing mutant to have a cock along with the expected anatomy. The mutant’s all lean angles, inner thighs stained with the evidence of a heat untended, and Charles would likely be on him if it weren’t for the second thing. 

The mutant’s tied down. 

That’s enough to force Charles to take a step back, mating season or not. They’ve got ropes around the heating mutant, around legs, arms, even his long neck; lashed to something low made out of rough-looking wood and tied so there’s no running, no hiding. No turning around. No chance at all of moving out of the position that’s been forced, with his rear raised for mounting, and all Charles can think is, it's a wonder they didn’t bloody chain him.

 _You’re--!!!_ , Charles sends, too horrified to guard his response. Everything in his biology is screaming to just give in and fuck, he can’t stop staring--but whatever Moira may think of him, he’s no brute animal. 

He shakes himself and starts backing away, breathing through his mouth to avoid the heavy scent of the heating mutant and calculating how the hell he’ll get out of this. Maybe if Moira saw, maybe if he feigned illness, maybe--

 _Tied_ , the mutant interrupts, answering with mind and not speech. Startled, Charles stops where he is, mid-stride. _I believe is the word_ , the mutant continues, his mental voice is strong, faintly amused. _He thinks I’ll kill you_. 

Swallowing, Charles tries not to become swayed by the feel of that mind. There's a strong and unusual current of lucidity under the roiling waters of heat. Charles can’t help skimming his thoughts, just a little, and all he sees is a life of horror and hardship. 

_And would you?_ Charles sends, approaching once more, trying to get to where the mutant can see him. 

_That depends on you_ , is the mutant’s answer. 

Once he’s in front of the mutant, Charles kneels--the binds are cruel enough that he can’t even lift his head--and meets his gaze. 

“What would you have me do,” Charles whispers, though there’s no danger that the humans would understand. 

The ropes look difficult, but not impossible to undo. Charles rather doubts the humans were kind enough to have left a knife. 

“I’m sure your _human_ went through a lot of trouble, for you to just run off. Do what you’ve been brought here to do.” 

Disbelieving, Charles stares. “You can’t possibly want me to,” he stalls, trying to find the right euphemism, “--to, well, _mate_ with you. Not like this. You’re heat-addled.” 

The mutant snorts and strains at the ropes. Charles can’t help flinching; even bound, this mutant doesn’t exactly seem harmless. 

_Telepath, you don’t know enough of me to make my decisions_. Charles searches out a glimpse what this mutant knows, sees another telepath that this mutant was bred to before. _End my heat,_ the mutant sends, _and you’ll end my confinement._

There’s such certainty in the mutant’s thoughts that Charles moves closer, lets himself breathe in the mutant’s heat. 

Charles has been through rut many seasons before, he’s not exactly young. Maybe it’s just the pleasant shock of being able to sense his partner’s mind during, but there’s something deeply and strangely alluring to this mutant’s scent. 

His thoughts, too, are drawing Charles in--dark as they may be, consumed with revenge and a plot to use this pregnancy to trick the humans into complacency--and realizes he can’t possibly leave. He may never properly have a mate, not in this world. 

But maybe, he thinks, this--this lucidity, the clarity of this mutant’s mind--maybe this is very near to how it would be. 

Reaching out, he starts to untie the ropes. 

“Leave them!” the mutant snaps, and he pulls his hand back as if scalded. “He’ll be suspicious. Don’t ruin this for me.” 

For a moment, Charles is silent, fighting impulse to pity.

“At least tell me your name,” he eventually says.

 _When have those mattered for our kind?_ the mutant thinks, and Charles leans in to rub against him cheek to cheek, in the manner of their wild kin. 

“I’m called Charles,” he offers, when he isn’t growled at for the forwardness. 

True, it’s a distinctly human name. He’s known no other. He’s been kept since birth, and he shares that fact through his power. 

The mutant seems to relax, before he struggles against the ropes, trying his best to nuzzle Charles in return. 

_My parents named me Erik,_ he hears, and he smiles sadly at the distinction, at what he already knows of how Erik came to be here. 

“Now. You’ve wasted time enough,” Erik tells him, withdrawing as best he can while bound. His face is flushed, a new wave of heat-scent crests over Charles’s senses. “Breed me.” 

Licking his lips, Charles tries not to react to the word. Yes, it’s what he’s here for, it’s what the humans think they’re doing already, but...

“Do you think they’ll stay out there all day?” 

More than his words, it’s Erik’s thoughts that jolt Charles into action. The distaste Erik has about being seen like this, how appalled he is every time he goes into heat, the terror of losing his young. 

Decided, Charles stands, and moves behind Erik. For a moment he just stands there, letting himself admire Erik’s legs, the slick folds of his cunt, the enormous weight of his cock dangling heavily between his thighs. 

Then, before Erik can start worrying about the humans again, he straddles his hips. 

He doesn’t thrust, though his rut makes him twitch with the restrained impulse; instead, he leans in and bites at Erik’s shoulders, rubs heavily on him again as if they were mated, the ropes burning against his flesh.

The head of his cock drags through Erik’s slick, the heat irresistible. Charles grunts, moving his grip from Erik’s arms to his sides, gripping at his too-narrow waist. 

“Quit fucking around,” Erik hisses. As much as he can, given the restraints, he’s trying to shove back against Charles’s cock. “Breed me,” he growls, straining against his binds, “ _Breed me_!” 

The last, he’s shouting into Charles’s mind, and that and the reckless pull of rut destroys any shred of control Charles had left. 

His hips seize. He thrusts down on Erik, winds up fucking against the slick underside of his dripping cock for a few passes before Erik starts broadcasting burning impatience so loudly that Charles has to correct himself. 

Erik’s deep in heat, he’s loose and so wet and Charles sinks in him in one easy thrust. Right off, Erik’s contracting around him, a rippling squeeze of inner muscles and blood-engorged flesh that makes Charles claw at his hips. He fucks in harder, ramming himself against Erik as if he could get any deeper. His balls slap against Erik’s flesh, his breath rasps out in desperate gasps, and Erik grunts a choked-off pained noise with every thrust as he’s jolted against the wood beneath them. 

It’s not comfortable, the rope burning Charles’s skin as he ruts. And it’s only worse for Erik, Charles distantly sensing the stab of splinters and the rawness of abraded skin under bindings; but all the same Erik’s mind is vibrant, blinding with pleasure. 

For a time, Charles can forget about the humans. He can forget about hideous situation that he knows so many of his kind are living--conditions worse than his, more terrible than this. Even in the depth of rut, he can feel the current of lucidity, the viciousness of Erik’s rage under his desire. 

While it doesn’t take long, by the time Charles’s blood is pounding and his balls are tightening with impending orgasm, his thighs are splattered with Erik’s slick. Crushing Erik with his weight, he grunts, his hips twitching in pathetic spasms as he starts to come. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Erik hisses, breathless under him. His cock twitches and he grinds against Erik harder, fighting to keep himself in deep.

Erik’s already squeezing hard around him as his knot starts to fill. Charles curses, tries to readjust, the swell painful when he’s not right up against a heating mutant. Briefly, Erik struggles underneath him before settling into it, allowing the tie.

Because there’s no way they _won’t_ be tied, the way Erik keeps clenching and relaxing around him. He’s moaning, the ropes damp with his sweat; the initial disconcerting panic of being knotted transformed into wild arousal. Winded as he is, Charles manages to work an arm around Erik’s hip, starts pumping his prick hard and fast, and Erik comes for him with a strangled shout. 

Slowly, Charles catches his breath. Erik’s unsettlingly docile for someone who’s tied, and it takes Charles a moment to remember exactly why. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Charles whispers, struggling to sit up enough to get his weight off Erik’s back. Erik’s still flushed and his ribs heaving with his panting. 

“What?” he husks back. _Forgot I was still_ tied _, is that it?_ His mental voice is amused, but brittle somehow. Charles pets slowly over his sides and back.

 _I suppose so,_ he admits. _Sorry, again_. 

_It’s no matter, as long as this works,_ Erik sends, before his attention seems to drift. Charles keeps touching him, needing the contact. 

It’s always unsettling, being knotted with a stranger. 

Letting his own mind wander, Charles reaches to brush the nearly-incomprehensible minds of the humans. 

They’re not near the shed, nor in the fields; Moira’s mind, wherever she is, has an uneasy, pondering quality. Perhaps it’ll be easier than not, to help some of these mutants. 

To help Erik, Charles thinks, letting his hand linger on the dip of Erik’s lower back. 

“It’ll take,” Charles says, wincing when he tries to shift his weight. They’re still tightly joined. 

Dismissively, Erik snorts. “And if not, you’ll try again.” 

Heats usually last a few days, rut one or two. It’s true Charles went into rut early this morning, spent most of the rest of his day miserable and itching to mate in the back of a truck. But he’s not sure how long Erik’s been like this, and he’s found humans variable on how long they like him on their property.

He smiles, wistful and sad, and Erik can’t even see his face. 

“And if not, we’ll figure something else out. Whatever it takes, I swear,” he says. And even if there’s blood in their future, even if he’s pledging himself to whatever revenge Erik is intending, he finds means it.


End file.
